


Here I Choose To Lie My Affections

by XtaticPearl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sleepy Cuddles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-09-23 04:27:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20334055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XtaticPearl/pseuds/XtaticPearl
Summary: Sleeping together gathers different meanings with changing contexts and it's surprisingly nice figuring that out together.





	Here I Choose To Lie My Affections

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tishawish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishawish/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Domestic Stevetony](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/510652) by Tishawish. 

It probably was a cause of concern somewhere that he couldn't remember the first time they did it, but Steve didn't really mind. Maybe it was during the draining aftermath of a battle and a dingy motel room that tested Tony's patience. Maybe it was the rushed stay at a Siberian inn, packed with conked out fellow Avengers. He didn't really chronicle this well and he wouldn't get any sympathy for it. 

It was a tag-along to the wildly jumbled ride that had been them getting together in the first place - they didn't really talk about the firsts. Steve knew that Tony remembered a few and Tony knew that Steve would remember those that he believed mattered most to Tony. Cosmo and Tumblr wouldn't give them an award but they worked. 

Still, Steve distractedly wondered if he could figure out when they had first done this. He clearly remembered the raunchier beginning, the first time they had 'slept together' with no real trace of sleep or clothes. It was the softer parts, the simply lying in close company, that didn't show the starting point in memory. 

The door clicked open and he blinked away from the book he was skimming, looking up to see Tony pushing past the entrance with half-closed eyes. 

"Hi," Steve called out, closing Benjamin Alire Sáenz's account of why Aristotle was torn over his affection for Dante, "Bruce finally kicked you out?"

"Coffee does nothing for him," Tony blearily looked at the book resting on Steve's chest now and frowned at it till Steve placed it on the bedside table, "Is that Tasha's copy?"

"I borrowed it"

"She thinks I stole it," Tony grumbled but climbed onto the bed without bothering to change into his nightclothes, "I'll continue to pretend I did if you continue to ignore this."

"I could just tell her that I borrowed it," Steve dutifully raised the blue cover to let Tony elbow his way up and stilled when the man ignored the spot nearby. The warmth of his fumblingly tired partner settled atop him, head burrowed under Steve's chin to conveniently listen to his heartbeat, and Steve's arms were frozen at his sides. There was no scent of cologne or hair product, a crease mark along Tony's cheek from where he must have briefly rested on his table's edge, one hand now resting on Steve's stomach while the other pillowed Tony's chin - it couldn't be any more comfortable than it would be to sleep on a lumpy couch. 

"She's still picky about you borrowing her jacket for Wanda," Tony mouthed over Steve's t-shirt and yawned as he turned his head to rest his ear over Steve's chest, "It's alright, I like being your new shiny shield."

Steve considered making a comment about titanium alloys and vibranium but figured that the tiny satisfied hum he heard was better to focus on. His palms had touched the familiarity of this man before, cupped gently over elbows and shoulders, clasped nicked fingers with fingerless gloves with the surety of his own body heat. He had skirted along the edges of _please_ and _why not_ but there had always been a hope to be more. Sex was invigorating and interesting, love was challenging and creative, and then there was this. 

Care. 

Caring was simple and brown-wrapped and habitual; the puddles stepped into on a drying road just because you knew that it was a quiet thrill. It was vulnerable and for Tony's blue heart to rest against his own flesh covered strength was a hushed revelation of a new level of that. Steve didn't know if Tony realized that, if the man with an armour for every situation knew what this meant. 

Maybe he did. Maybe it was forged under their sheets over the growing nights of firsts and the engineer had deemed tonight worthy of testing it out at last. 

Steve had held stronger shields but this one seemed most precious. His hands finally rose from their conflicted giddiness and came around to rest on Tony's back, one cupping his waist while the other relaxed on the nape of the bowed neck. 

"Me too," Steve whispered as he watched over Tony slowly descend into a trusting slumber, the longing to care finally fitting into the space of offered right. He'd remember this first, he mused, and the room glowed softly as the lights gave way to the sole nightlight from their bedside lamp. 

Trust gained always awaited its reciprocity and Tony watched it build as his new normalcy with Steve grew. Quiet nights of backs turned with tension that woke up to legs tangled at dawn, mussed hair and beard burn carefully fixed with lazy morning routines in front of a shared mirror, stretched out tank tops still hanging from the closet that didn't hold labels of owners with old rigidity anymore - the roots sank in as their branches expanded into newer categories with passing seasons. 

It probably was a reason to celebrate somewhere that he didn't actively question the circumstances, but Tony didn't linger much on it. Maybe the duvet being the suit's colours after weeks of a well-kept surprise had softened him one day. Maybe it was the spare socks in hand that had saved the day at an MIT gathering, with Steve waving him off after stuffing the ruined ones in his pockets. It wasn't the most noted among their memories, and there weren't pictures of these, but somewhere between them, Tony had understood that there was more to love than what the stories promised. 

More to _marriage_ now, he amended in his mind as he turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The t-shirt rucked up in his movement but he ignored it, not really willing to change into a tank-top or go nude. He liked the shirt, its softer red converging into a single white star at the chest. Well, chest of the original owner and resting more on Tony's abdomen, but it was the comfort that mattered. 

He heard the lights click and the door closed but didn't turn to look at his husband as he came to bed. 

"How's the head now?" Steve tugged at the sheets once before climbing on when Tony relented by giving space, "Any better?"

"It's a headache," Tony clicked his tongue, glancing down to see Steve smooth out his rucked up t-shirt, "It goes away slowly."

"You're frowning lesser so I guess it'll get better," Steve commented as he folded his arms over Tony's stomach, easily holding himself up, "I could have given you the neck massage, you know."

"We both need to sleep," Tony raised a brow when Steve dropped himself to rest his face over his folded arms, "You're hanging half off the bed, scooch up."

His normal grace was thrown out the window when Steve crawled into bed and Tony grunted as the man dragged himself higher to rest over Tony's chest, fully pushing Tony into the mattress. 

"I'm tired," Steve informed as he peered up at his husband, hair flattened with the occasional spike still holding out, looking unbearably younger than he did in the team meeting he had pulled through hours ago. Tony's shoulders had ached with a phantom need to bump against Steve's at the coiled tension he had seen grow tighter with every mistake they had catalogued. There weren't always the best options and safest choices, confidence veiled over disastrous failures. Heroes weren't always the lifeboats that carried everybody ashore, and it was visible with the backlog of experience they had gathered. There were always tears and holes waiting to topple them. There was always _too late_ around the corner of a _well done_ and having a team didn't exempt anyone from feeling the bumps in that turn. And it hit Steve, the legend built upon propaganda and glory of a flagged uniform, much harder than most. Healing was familiar, reforming even more, but this was new and Tony's regrown heart thumped harder at the awareness.

This was comfort. 

Comfort was alien to those who weren't meant to fall. It was blowing over a wound even though an antiseptic was more logical, stuffed animals hugs feeding touch starved arms, quiet and shadowed and an exhale worthy of relief. Iron Man could bounce energy blasts off Captain America's shield, could lift him up from a live minefield, and serve as a special carrier for a fellow Avenger. He had done those and beyond. 

But Tony was the one who got to hold a tired Steve and feel the weight of his burdens settle into their bed. He was the knight to a soldier's weariness and he closed his arms around his husband's shoulders, palms stroking over his back. 

"I know," he muttered into their space and let his fingers draw unspoken patterns over Steve's back, smiling down at the peering drowsy eyes. The ache to comfort faded into the golden drams of the sheet pulled over them, and he'd let this memory go unframed too as long as it remained in his unforgetting mind. 


End file.
